"Look here," said the woman, speaking low, "I don't know you from Adam, of course, but I know you're a decent girl. For God's sake go home to your friends! I don't know what they're about to let you out alone like this." "I'm alone in Paris just now," said Betty. "Good God in Heaven, you little fool! Get back to your lodging. You've no business here." "I've as much business as anyone else," said Betty. "I'm an artist, too, and I want to see life." "You've not seen much yet," said the woman with a laugh that Betty hated to hear. "Have you been brought up in a convent? You an artist! Look at all of us! Do you need to be told what _our_ trade is?" "Don't," said Betty; "oh, don't." "Go home," said the woman, "and say your prayers--I suppose you _do_ say your prayers?--and thank God that it isn't your trade too." "I don't know what you mean," said Betty. "Well then, go home and read your Bible. That'll tell you the sort of woman it is that stands about the corners of streets, or sits at the Café d'Harcourt. What are your people about?" "My father's in England," said Betty; "he's a clergyman." "I generally say mine was," said the other, "but I won't to you, because you'd believe me. My father was church organist, though. And the Vicarage people were rather fond of me. I used to do a lot of Parish work." She laughed again. Betty laid a hand on the other woman's. "Couldn't you go home to your father--or--something?" she asked feebly. "He's cursed me forever--Put it all down in black and white--a regular commination service. It's you that have got to go home, and do it _now_, too." She shook off Betty's hand and waved her own to a man who was passing. "Here, Mr. Temple--" The man halted, hesitated and came up to them. "Look here," said the black-browed woman, "look what a pretty flower I've found,--and here of all places!" She indicated Betty by a look. The man looked too, and took the third chair at their table. Betty wished that the ground might open and cover her, but the Boule Miche asphalt is solid. The new-comer was tall and broad-shouldered, with a handsome, serious, boyish face, and fair hair. "She won't listen to me--" "Oh, I did!" Betty put in reproachfully. "You talk to her like a father. Tell her where naughty little girls go who stay out late at the Café d'Harcourt--fire and brimstone, you know. She'll understand, she's a clergyman's daughter." "I really do think you'd better go home," said the new-comer to Betty with gentle politeness. "I would, directly," said Betty, almost in tears, "but--the fact is I haven't settled on a hotel, and I came to this café. I thought I could ask one of these art students to tell me a good hotel, but--so that's how it is." "I should think not," Temple answered the hiatus. Then he looked at the black-browed, scowling woman, and his look was very kind.